One Russian Night
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Napoleon discovers the dangers that hide in a Russian forest one Russian night


Napoleon tossed the rest of his coffee into the bushes with a flick of his wrist, then grinned as Illya started at the sound.

"You're on pins and needles tonight, _tovarich_." The forest was darkening quickly now that the sun had dipped behind the trees. The sky was a blush of pinks and purples. "You usually like sleeping in the woods." At Illya's frown, Napoleon sobered.

"This is a Russian forest."

"That's good with us being in Russia and all." Napoleon's mouth played with a smile. "What is bothering you?"

"It's foolish. Just an old fear." Illya stared into the trees as if he could pierce the darkness with the strength of his glare.

"Things frequently are when you confront them. You know I won't laugh." After a long moment, Illya muttered something and Napoleon shook his head. "I didn't catch that, partner."

"I said, Baba Yaga." Illya looked around as if fearful that the witch might suddenly appear.

"She's just a fairy tale, Illya."

"Many tales have some basis in truth. I would just feel more comfortable if we were in a hotel tonight and not in the middle of her forest."

"Tomorrow night we will be. Tonight, we must make the best of it." Then a thought occurred to him. "Do you still have the flask you took off that sentry?"

"Of course."

"Then, how about a nightcap? That should help you sleep."

"Are you sure? This is proper Russian vodka, Napoleon. It's not like the water that passes for vodka back in the states."

Napoleon had to admit there was a difference between the two. A couple of belts and his head started to spin. A couple more and everything was buzzing happily. He crawled into the tent, leaving Illya to stare into the fire. He got his jacket off and started to take off his shirt, when he realized the sleeve was coming apart at the shoulder. It must have happened when they swung from the tower down to the drawbridge. Waverly would have his hide.

Napoleon crawled out of the tent.

"Illya?"

"He's gone," Dmitri said. Napoleon didn't like the agent, but he was UNCLE, so he tolerated him. The man was everything Illya wasn't. "What do you want?"

"Where is he?"

Dmitri nodded to the bushes and Napoleon understood the Russian's intimation. "What is wrong, Solo?"

"Do you have a needle and thread? I need to sew up my sleeve."

"No, but if you follow that path, you will come to a small cottage. The woman there will help you."

"Oh, okay… great." Napoleon pulled his jacket back on, grabbed his daypack, and started to walk off.

"Napoleon! Where are you going?"

"Oh, to get a needle and thread."

"You can't." Illya looked panicked. "Baba Yaga lives at the end of this path."

"Illya, stop already!" Napoleon patted Illya's shoulder. "I'll be fine."

"There will be birches that will try to whip you. Use your tie to restrain them. Her dogs will attack you, but feed them some of the rolls leftover from dinner. A cat will try to claw your eyes out, but you can tame her with some ham. A young woman is your greatest ally, but you must treat her with respect and honor or all will be lost."

"I'm just going for a needle and thread, Illya. I will be back in five minutes."

Illya nodded and stepped back until he disappeared into the night.

Napoleon started to walk and the wind came up. Napoleon could feel tree branches striking him and he remembered Illya's suggestion.

He undid his tie and caught the branches, remembering to tie them loosely so as to not damage the tender ends of the branches.

Napoleon continued on his way and caught sight of a dim glow. He smiled and then he heard the growls, low and threatening. Looking over his shoulder, he saw two mastiffs standing there, their bones plainly visible through their skin.

"Ah, you poor guys, you're half starved." Napoleon reached into his pack and pulled out half a dozen soft rolls. "Here you go."

The dogs fell upon the feast, their tails wagging their thanks. Napoleon grinned. He quite liked dogs. He couldn't quite figure out what Illya had against them.

There was a low fence that surrounded the cottage and near the front gate a cat sat, cleaning her claws.

"Hello, Puss. My friend told me you could be quite the spit fire, but I have a treat for you." Napoleon pulled two pieces of ham out of the back and tossed them onto the fence. The cat meowed and immediately attacked the meat. "You are in as bad of shape as those dogs. Whoever owns you should take better care of you." He petted the bony back as the cat ate and purred.

"That would be me." The voice came from behind him. "What do you want?"

Napoleon glanced over at the old woman. She was colorfully dressed in the style of a Russian _babushka_, but her sneer was not grandmotherly.

"I was wondering if you had a needle and thread I could borrow. I have a tear."

"It is the only one I have. You will have to use it here."

"That's fine," Napoleon said. "I'm a fast stitcher. I will be out of your hair in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

"How quaintly you speak." The woman turned and led the way to the cottage. It was off the ground as if built on short stilts. It seemed odd as there didn't seem much worry about floods here. It was odder still that they looks like chicken feet. You could never tell with some people.

He was shown to a room. "In there. I will bring the needle and thread to you."

"Thanks." He stepped in and watched as the door closed. After a moment, he walked to a window. It was high off the ground, too high for him to look out even on tiptoes.

Then he heard the old woman's voice. "You, girl, prepare the bath. You will bathe him and tomorrow I will eat him for my dinner."

"Yes, Baba Yaga."

Napoleon caught his breath and went for his weapon. He wasn't even wearing his holster and he realized he must have taken it off back in the tent.

Pacing the room, he wondered what he could use as a weapon. There was a soft knock at the door and it opened. There stood a young woman. She might have been lovely if she wasn't dressed in rags and if long stringy hair didn't hide her face. She was carrying a towel in her arms.

"I am to bathe you," she said, her voice tired and broken. She pushed at the dark hair in her face with a stained hand, revealing a face stained with exhaustion and remorse. It immediately fell back into her eyes.

"Here." Napoleon took his handkerchief, imported silk and of softest blue, and gathered her hair with it, knotting it carefully to keep from catching any hair. "There. That's better." He smiled warmly at her.

"Thank you," she murmured. "No one has ever given me such a gift before."

"You are welcome. I overheard the witch."

"Then you must run." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a comb. "Put your ear to the ground and when you hear her coming, throw this down. A thick forest will spring up to block her. If she continues, throw the towel down and a wide river will separate you from her. I will stall her as long as I can." Her smile was tremulous and Napoleon very nearly kissed her, then he remembered Illya's warning and instead lifted a work calloused hand to his lips.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I've worked as her servant for many years and she's never given me a rag, but you gave me a lovely handkerchief to tie up my hair. Now go!"

Napoleon stole from the house and passed by the cat as she guarded the gate.

"Hurry!" The cat cried. "Keep to the path. She will miss you soon."

"Why aren't you stopping me? Isn't that your job?"

"I've been her sentry for centuries and she's never given me a scrap of food, but you gave me ham."

"And us rolls," one of the dogs said. "We will escort you as far as we can. Now hurry, friend, hurry!"

Napoleon started back down the path running as fast as he could. He looked over his shoulder and saw the house, supported on four chicken legs racing after him. Baba Yaga stood, framed in an upper floor window, shaking her fist at him. Never in his life had he seen anything so terrifying.

No matter how hard his legs pumped, he couldn't put any distance between him and the witch. In desperation, he threw down the comb and kept running.

Instantly behind him, a thick row of trees sprang up and he heard the witch scream in fury. Then she began to recite a spell.

He paused to try and catch his breath, then, like in a bad dream, he saw the trees begin to writhe and twist, collapsing to the ground as if in agony.

Napoleon started to run again, cursing himself for being so vain, for not being younger, and for not listening to Illya.

The house was very nearly on him and Napoleon remembered the towel. He threw it to the ground and instantly the earth split and water bubbled up. Yet it was too late, the house stepped over the stream and Napoleon stumbled.

He fell to the ground and rolled as the house came to stand over him. It let out a crow of triumph as it raised a foot to crush him. He threw his arms over his face.

_Cock-a-doodle-do! Cock-a-doodle-do! Cock-a-doodle-do!_

"Will you shoot that chicken?" Illya grumbled and Napoleon opened his eyes. He was in their pup tent. The morning sun was just being to paint the roof of it with light. "I think a chicken omelet would just hit the spot this morning."

Napoleon glanced over at his partner, nothing more than a blond hair topped lump in a sleeping bag. "Chicken?"

_Cock-a-doodle-do! _ The rooster crowed again and Napoleon jumped at the sound. He unzipped the flap of the tent and looked out. "Illya, where's Dmitri?"

"Who?" Illya rolled over and pushed his sleeping bag from his face. Hair all awry and sporting two day's worth of whiskers, Illya looked particularly bleary-eyed.

"Dmitri, the other Russian UNCLE agent."

Illya chuckled and ran a hair through his hair. "I warned you about Russian vodka, Napoleon. As far as I know, I am still the only Russian agent UNCLE has."

Napoleon climbed from his bag and stepped out into the clearing. Nothing had changed from the night before. "Wow, talk about crazy dreams."

A moment later, Illya followed, stretching and scratching his stomach. "How much farther do we have to hike to reach civilization?" He sat to pull on his pants.

"According to the map, we should hit something this afternoon if we start soon."

Illya stuffed his feet into his hiking boots and shuffled off in the direction of a nearby tree. Napoleon recognized the action and turned his attention to rebuilding the fire to give Illya a bit more privacy.

"Napoleon?" Illya's voice was loud in the quietness of the forest.

"Yes, partner?"

"I scouted this area out thoroughly last night. Do you remember there being a river over here?"

And Napoleon shivered in the morning chill.


End file.
